Marvellous things
by Bookjunk
Summary: With a partner like Ichabod Crane, you discover new things every day. Abbie/Ichabod.
1. History eraser

**Marvellous things**

**Chapter 1: History eraser**

Her phone was beeping. Abbie lifted her head off the pillow and checked the alarm clock. Two a.m.! No, she was not getting that. She was going to ignore it. She was not on duty and she was not coming in for anything less than the apocalypse. What if it was the apocalypse, though? This was a possibility now. Ha, her life was funny.

Restlessly, she turned over. The phone stopped beeping and started up again almost immediately. She cursed and reached for the infernal device.

'Miss Mills, have I awoken you?'

She groaned in response. Crane apologised profusely.

'Yeah, yeah. What's up?' Abbie muttered, interrupting the unending flow of words.

'I have just read the most peculiar thing. Our sixteenth president was a vampire hunter. Did you know this?'


	2. Out of the woodwork

**Marvellous things**

**Chapter 2: Out of the woodwork**

'His name is Ichabod Crane,' Abbie told the woman. One minute into the interview and Abbie was already tired of talking to her. The woman might or might not have information about a potential suspect. Not that Abbie was getting any closer to finding out. The woman kept getting distracted by Crane's presence at the far end of the room. It was truly disturbing. The woman was eyeing Crane like a cat that hasn't been fed yet eyes a can of cat food.

'Really?' she panted. Abbie rolled her eyes.

'Yes.'

'He could be cute.'

'Could be?' Abbie said, very much despite herself. She did not want to be sucked into this conversation. Conversations like this bored her to death. Cute? She simply didn't care about cute. Hadn't as a teen, didn't now. As for Crane being cute: she wasn't even going to entertain the thought. It was simply not on.

'Let's not get sidetracked. Do you...?' she tried, but that idiot of a woman interrupted her.

'If he got a haircut, bought some new clothes and dropped the mental patient act, he'd be cute,' the woman proclaimed. Abbie stared at her. Momentarily forgetting that she had also tried to make Crane wear something halfway modern, Abbie felt incensed on his behalf.

'So, if he changed everything about him that makes him who he is? Okay.'

Abbie almost expected the sarcasm to go unnoticed, but the woman surprised her by picking up on it. Then the woman leaned in, which was not good. Leaning implied intimacy.

'Well, he's weird now, isn't he?' the woman whispered. Who gives a shit? Abbie thought. What does _weird _even mean in a town where a headless horseman is a thing? God, why can't this stupid woman shut up?

'I happen to like him just the way he is,' Abbie said. Her tone was final. Topic closed. She glanced at Crane, who smiled at her. She returned his smile before focusing her attention on the woman again.

'Those eyes, huh?' the woman sighed.

'Eyes?' Abbie inquired, at a loss.

'His eyes are beautiful,' the woman insisted. Involuntarily, Abbie looked at Crane as if to check for herself. She averted her gaze immediately once she realised what she was doing.

'They... I don't know. I haven't noticed. Look, can we hurry this along?'


	3. How to carve a carrot into a rose

**Marvellous things**

**Chapter 3: How to carve a carrot into a rose**

The phone rang. It was Crane. Abbie stared at his name on the display for a second. She felt a little thrill go through her. She laughed at that, earning herself a bemused look from the guy manning the front desk.

'Hey, you're calling me at an acceptable hour. Improvement,' she complimented, making her way outside.

'The metube!' Crane exclaimed. Abbie stopped walking. It was sort of difficult to concentrate when he did that. He was usually so calm, so it was a little unnerving when he got excited.

'The what?' she asked. She tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing. Walking? Where? She took a few steps and then just gave up.

'The metube. On the internet,' he semi-explained. Abbie frowned and racked her brain. What the _hell _was he talking about?

'The me...? Oh, youtube,' she corrected, catching up.

'Yes, the youtube. Abigail, why are you sighing?'

'No reason. Please do continue telling me about the youtube,' she said. Crane immediately started to babble about some video he had discovered and how he wanted her to see it too. Abbie smiled.

'I'm still at the station, so if you tell me what's at the top of the video I'll look it up when I get home,' she offered.

'I want to watch it together. I want to see your face when you see it,' he protested. 'I will meet you at your apartment.'

'I've told you about webcams, right? We can do it now. I'll watch it at my desk. Really, Crane, there's no need to come over,' Abbie argued. It was strange, but she didn't want to see him. She didn't understand why not. He, on the other hand, seemed intent on seeing her. It was all very strange.

'I want for us to be in the same room while we see it,' Crane said. He sounded adamant. Since she couldn't formulate a reason why they shouldn't meet up, she was forced to agree.

'Alright,' she snapped and ended the call. Well, that was rude. Shaking her head, she contemplated the key in her palm. Oh yes, I'm looking for my car, she remembered, but she didn't move.

(***)

Silently, they watched as the knife in some woman's hands whittled away at a home grown carrot. They were on the couch and the laptop was on Abbie's lap. She was trying to sit still, which wasn't easy. Crane was alternating between looking at the screen and at her and for some reason that made her feel uncomfortable. Finally, after about three minutes of steady slicing, the footage showed the result. A bright orange rose.

'It is quite exceptional, isn't it?'

'Beautiful,' Abbie replied. Despite meaning it, it came out a little false. Luckily, Jenny entered the apartment at that moment.

'What are you guys doing?' she asked. Abbie exchanged a glance with Crane. Honestly, by the look on his face you would have thought they'd been caught watching porn or something.

'Just... watching an instruction video on how to carve a carrot into a rose,' Abbie answered. Jenny waited for the punch line, but when none was forthcoming, she raised her eyebrows.

'Oh. Do you do that a lot?'


	4. Avant gardener

**Marvellous things**

**Chapter 4: Avant gardener**

No matter how many times Crane asked, Abbie would not let him try out the chainsaw. Huffily, he helped himself to a rusty weed whacker.

'What are you trying to do here?' she asked him, lowering herself into a desk chair.

'The produce in the market looks absolutely nothing like the produce I am accustomed to. God knows what is done to those poor vegetables. I plan to cultivate my own,' Crane explained. Abbie dug her heel into the sand. She was not an expert by any means, but the soil didn't look conducive to growing food. She wasn't going to tell Crane that, though. If this kept him busy when they were not working on supernatural stuff then she was not going to interfere.

The number of times he'd called her over the last month were making here a bit antsy. Phone calls to discuss witness related things: okay. Phone calls to _share_ trivial things with her: not okay. She observed how Crane was struggling with the weed whacker. She stood up to get them drinks, so he wouldn't spot her amusement.

Inside the cabin, she filled two tall glasses to the brim with cooled ice tea. She spilled nary a drop. Outside again, she handed him a glass. Cautiously, he took a sip. His hair was tangled and his face was shiny with sweat.

'What is this beverage?'

'Ice tea. It's what you drink after working in the garden. I think, I've never done that myself. We do it in movies, so it must be a real American tradition. Or I could get us beers?' she offered. He shook his head. A stray lock of hair got stuck to his cheek. A sudden urge to tuck it behind his ear startled her. She directed her gaze at the ground.

'Sweet but refreshing,' Crane assessed. He gestured at his future vegetable garden with his free hand. Looking at her, he smiled tentatively.

'Would you care to assist?'

'Nah, I'm good.'

'Suit yourself,' Crane shrugged. He handed her the glass back and, although Abbie tried to avoid it, their fingers touched. It didn't appear to faze him, but Abbie imagined that she felt a spark. Like being zapped with a tiny electric charge. It was less a physical shock than a shock to her system. Suddenly, Abbie found herself thinking about that annoying woman and what she'd said about Crane.

'That woman I interviewed a couple of weeks back...' Abbie blurted out. Crane peered up from the weed whacker that was giving him so much trouble. He does have beautiful eyes, Abbie thought, flushing. Crane looked at her intently. Almost as if he could see that she was flustered, which she knew he couldn't. Her skin tone made her embarrassment proof. She held his gaze and continued.

'You know, the one who couldn't stop looking at you?'

'Did she? I hadn't noticed,' he claimed.

'I bet,' she muttered. The urge to say something mean came over her. She didn't analyse it. Abbie had stopped analysing her feelings about and weird behaviour around Crane a while ago. She didn't like the conclusions.

'She said that you must have a blind barber and that you dress like a hobo.'

Immediately, she felt terrible. Jesus, what was going on with her? He was the kindest, most wonderful person she knew and how did she respond? By being a jerk.

'I'm sorry. She didn't say that. Not like that, anyway. I'm really sorry,' Abbie said.

'There's no need to apologise, Abbie. I'm fully aware that my attire is considered unusual. As is my... What did you call it? Ah, my _hairdo_,' Crane replied, using the word she'd taught him with obvious pleasure. Desperate to undo her awful outburst, Abbie searched for something nice to say.

'It might come back into style,' she insisted, which was not – quite – a lie. Fashion was always repeating itself. Or was that history? Either way, it didn't matter. She could tell by the delighted expression on his face that she was already forgiven. Crane was clearly versed in recognising and appreciating the spirit instead of the lousy gift.

'Thank you,' he said sincerely and Abbie responded by nearly curtsying. Being around him made her do the most ridiculous things. In the end, she settled for simply saying, 'You're welcome.'


	5. Don't apply compression gently

**Marvellous things**

**Chapter 5: Don't apply compression gently**

She felt kind of weird about doing this, but managed to justify herself by thinking about all the times Crane had enthusiastically regaled her – his archaic language was rubbing off on her, wasn't it? – with tales of the most inane things. This was simply payback. Nothing more and nothing less.

'Last night I dreamed about you,' she said. Crane tilted his head. Abbie suddenly realised how that innocent sentence could be misinterpreted to mean something else entirely.

'Don't give me that look. It was really more of a nightmare. No. Okay, let me rephrase that. I had a dream. You were in it,' she began anew. Crane seemed very interested, though subdued.

'It did not occur to me that the dream might have been erotic in nature until you so blatantly accused me of harbouring such thoughts. However, it might have been a prophetic dream. Tell me more about it.'

'I think it was a regular dream,' Abbie protested. Not that it mattered. She was going to tell him all about it anyway.

'How can you be certain?' Crane inquired.

'Well, for one, you don't have a gaping chest wound...' she started. Crane interrupted her.

'That could still happen.'

'...with laces of red liquorice streaming out of it,' Abbie continued, staring at him pointedly. Sheepishly, he met her gaze.

'Ah, yes, I see what you mean. The silliness of the candy does suggest that it was not in fact a vision,' he admitted.

'You were dying and...'

Abbie started to laugh. The timing couldn't have been more wrong. Crane looked slightly offended, which only made her laugh harder.

'And you said...' she tried again, but she had to pause because she couldn't stop laughing.

'You said, get this, _don't apply compression gently_.'

It wasn't really funny maybe, but it had been such a welcome dream. No visions of a bleak past or future. Merely ridiculous dream stuff. Tears came to her eyes. When was the last time she'd had this much fun? Or, better question, when was the last time she'd felt comfortable enough with someone to let loose like this?

Crane chuckled. Still laughing, she leaned into him. God, I trust him so much, Abbie thought. He smiled at her with those beautiful eyes of his and before she knew what she was doing she was kissing him. His mouth opened in surprise. She was starting to come to her senses when he stunned her by returning the kiss. Immediately, she pulled away.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. It had felt so natural, but of course it wasn't. It was dumb. They were just friends. Abbie thought nothing of Crane kissing her back. After all, he was a guy.

'Yes, you're quite right. We cannot do that,' he agreed. He sounded extremely unhappy with the situation. Abbie could relate. Forcing herself to make eye contact, she saw the regret plain on his face. It kicked her right in the teeth.


	6. I've got a friend called Emily Post

**Marvellous things**

**Chapter 6: I've got a friend called Emily Post**

'I see now why it's called fast food,' Crane remarked drily while observing how Abbie wolfed down her food in the car. She glared at him. There was little else she could do with a mouthful of deliciousness. Quickly, she swallowed her bite.

'That's the way you're supposed to eat a hamburger, Emily Post.'

'Who is this Emily Post you speak of? Is she a friend of yours?' Crane asked. Impatiently, Abbie urged him to tuck in. Hesitantly, he took a tiny, delicate bite and then looked at her as if he wanted to know whether he was doing it right. As if he wanted her approval.

'No, you've gotta really get in there. There's no place for daintiness when it comes to eating junk food. Here, like this,' she instructed and sank her teeth into the bun and the beef. For a second, she doubted that Crane would rise to the challenge. Too dignified, probably. Then he took a huge bite out of his burger. Ketchup dribbled down his chin. Grinning, Abbie passed him some paper napkins and dug in too.

Five minutes later, they both sighed with considerable satisfaction.

'That was good, right?'

'The fact remains that the term food hardly applies, but, yes, I concede that it was good,' Crane responded. He wiped his fingers with the last clean napkin and surprised her yet again.

'I want to cook for you. I want to make you dinner,' he stated. Abbie accepted, making sure that there was no physical contact between them when she took her drink from the dashboard. This isn't strange, she reasoned. Friends prepared meals for each other. So, not strange. Not crossing a line or anything. It would be casual and not awkward at all. She could do this.

(***)

It wasn't awkward. It wasn't casual either. Abbie diced some – store bought – vegetables and explained how her stove worked, but mostly Crane did the cooking. They talked about safe subjects. The weather. Where you could buy the best carrots. How those ingenious, round carrots could exist. None of the things Abbie associated with romantic evenings were there. No candles. No flowers. No soft lighting. No warbling background music. It was the two of them and food. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It felt incredibly loaded.

They kept up their chatter during dinner. The dishes he had prepared were nothing fancy, but everything tasted heavenly. The chicken was spicy. The carrots, onions and tomatoes were tasty – and expertly chopped. The potatoes were crumbly. Dessert was sweet. Everything was great.

Crane insisted on washing up, so Abbie assisted him. She had a bad moment when he rolled up his sleeves, but it mercifully passed. Finally, he had on his coat and they were standing by the door. She felt glad that he was leaving. She felt sad that he wasn't staying. She was a mess.

'Thank you for cooking for me. I had a really nice evening, just you and me,' she said. Crane stiffened. Dammit, Abbie thought, I screwed it up on the finish line.

'About what happened before. I mean, about what I did. I shouldn't have,' she said, trying to find the right words to say to defuse the sudden tension and set him at ease. Crane shook his head and took her hands into his own.

'We are in agreement, Abbie. I understand. Now is not the time to speak of love.'

Abbie felt her jaw drop as she gaped at him. Embarrassed, Crane shifted his gaze to somewhere over her shoulder.

'You were not speaking of love? My deepest apologies,' he stammered. Abbie grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, pulled him towards her and kissed the hell out of him. He stumbled back.

'That was... You _were_ speaking of love?' he asked. Abbie nodded. It felt beyond awesome to admit. Yes, she loved Ichabod. A smile appeared on his face. He wrapped her up in his arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder and let it rest there for a moment.

'Well, this won't do at all,' Abbie said, stepping back. Crane looked bemused.

'Your clothes,' she clarified. 'They have to go. Off with them.'

'Abbie, no. I have told you before that I will not, under any circumstances, compromise on this issue. I refuse to conform to this century's highly inappropriate dress code.'

'Oh, you can put them back on after,' Abbie lightly replied. He blushed. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. She needed him undressed and in her bed as soon as possible. Crane, however, had other plans. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her lips. A slow, intense one.

'Making love is not akin to consuming fast food, Abbie. There is no rushing. We will take our time. We will enjoy it to the fullest. We will be thorough. Personally, I intend to be _extremely_ thorough.'

The end.


End file.
